So I had wrote this a few months back and just came across it again. So for those that didn't get to see it when I first sent it out to people, enjoy.

Dear Salsa, I know maybe you know this already, like, you feel it too, but I just really need to tell you because I'm normally too scared to really admit this because I don't like committing to anything, Salsa, let alone a real, genuine devotion. I'm totally roller-coaster-stomach-dropping in love with you. And it's not just the way you look even though I love your soft red, the whites and greens throughout you, the speckled black when there are beans in you, the light yellows when I use yellow peppers-you are super beautiful, colorful, delicious.

You are the way food should look Salsa, you are what all food should aspire to be. I'm embarrassed. I didn't want to do this in a letter, I wanted it to be special. I wanted us to hang out all night with some movie I don't really want to watch but am watching just to see what other people are talking about. Just you and me and you listen to me when I talk about how dense the female character is and you totally agree with me Salsa because you are fucking liberated and you understand what it's like because you've been there, and you don't really see the point of that scene with her in the shower either.

Maybe it gets late and I stop eating you because I don't like how much sodium you have in you but I really, really want to tell you how I feel. But it's hard because tortilla chips are always there but to be totally up front and honest, Salsa, you are, like, so much more than just "chips and salsa." I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate you with tortilla chips and I understand that is how you are classically served but fuck, you are so delicious with so many more dishes. You are perfect on any kind of taco especially chicken tacos because even though I really like chicken it really needs something extra to take it to that next level, you know?

What am I saying, of course you know. You're SALSA. I'm retarded, I'm stupid for even writing this I'm totally off base in even putting you in a position where, like, you'd even consider... When I started making you I didn't give you much thought. I sliced the onions without heart, I added too much seasoning carelessly, I used way too much cilantro, I always under salted. You were nothing more than a simple topping for the pork-which was really what I wanted. I didn't see you in that way, I only wanted pork, & corn torillas, I WAS BLIND.

But now creating you is like making love. Maybe not so much making love as it is like making a vegetable medley in a tomato sauce of desired thickness. Look, I know this is out of nowhere and I know you have this really great thing going with Tortilla Chips, I mean, seriously, you guys are awesome together and no one would deny that. In reality, nobody would fucking dump you on my face and take a bite out of my cheek, right? I get it, I know where I stand. Yet I can't help this feeling. I can't help wanting nothing more than YOU, a really good song, a bottle of wine that costs more than 20 bucks and no work the next day. I get it though. You're Salsa. You're fucking Salsa. You're salsa and I'm just a human being. A really fucking hungry human being. I'll never stop loving you, even the jarred shit.

Love, Dean.

P. S. I hope this is not weird now.

P. S . S My salsa makes all the pretty girls want to dance and take off their underpants.